Stand By Me
by sowrongitsxkristin
Summary: The pain of wanting while admitting you need help is sometimes all the help you need.


I made my way off the subway and onto the busy streets of New York. Clouds were taking up too much space in the sky for my liking that day. Today I was making the decision to grow up into the man I'm supposed to be. Too many people have been hurt because of my mistakes and careless actions. She's been hurt too many times than any person could take. I was the cause of that because I had made a pure choice to put It before her.

Grass crunching beneath my converse, I walked the rest of the way to my destination. Thoughts swarmed around, ganging up on my brain. Pictures of people that care for me were mostly in those thoughts. Future occasions were playing in my mind like a picture show, one that I desperately wanted to walk out of.

At times that I would feel myself wanting to take part of experiencing It I would give in. This previous time though…wasn't something that I wanted to ever experience again. I told them, those people that cared for me and I for them, that I wouldn't let it happen again. Never again would I let myself succumb to It, though, I knew I was probably lying; It would happen again. And I was right. It did happen again.

A crack of thunder boomed around me while I continued on my journey to the brown brick building. Couples happily bypassed me without a care in the world. "Don't judge a book by its cover" is how the saying goes I believe. So as each couples passed me I wondered if they were really as happy as they made themselves look. She and I were happy like that, before It, I mean. These days I feel like I'm a million miles away from the good person I once was.

"You can't keep doing this, you have to stop. If you keep doing this…I don't even want to think what it'll end like," She sobbed to me that night. Even though I wasn't in my right mind I was able to see what I was doing to her.

"You're right," Was all I mumbled before things became warped. The following morning was the wakeup call for me.

Now I was standing at the doors that were the second step for me (the first seeing that It was a problem). She was smiling at me in my mental picture once again. All that it took for me to walk in was that mental picture. The nurse at the reception desk smiled at me then handed me a clipboard with papers to sign in attached to them. Later, I was given a room that I would be living in for the next month or so, however long it took to rid me of It.

This place wasn't like I thought it was. Signing in was easy; It was easy meeting my new roommate for the next month or so. The first day without It was tough but I got through it.

Talking about this was the frightening thing for me. I've been here, in this place, for several weeks now yet I'm still unable to open up. My therapist hasn't heard anything from my mouth but my name and a "hello" on the first day. Group therapy didn't even get that much from me. Each group therapy consisted of listening to others' problems while as it came for my turn, I sat in my chair Indian style, arms crossed and wondering how I let my life come to this.

"Can you even talk?" A guy asked across the circle, earning a simple look from me. I didn't glare nor did I narrow my eyes at him, I simply looked up. He let the matter drop and never tried to speak to me again. All I wanted was her. That's all and nothing more because I knew that if she just told me that everything would be okay between us, then I could get through this. But alas I haven't heard from her much. Can't say that I blame her, I mean could you?

I was lying on my bed after they called "lights out". When I was a kid my parents told me that if I prayed hard enough with a lot of love then God would listen. He would take away all of the pain from you. So that's what I did; I prayed for him to let me be me again, for her to still love me after all of this. Knowing I may have sounded like a fool to my atheist roommate, I asked God to have her standing with me in the end.

"Hey, you have a phone call," The nurse the reception desk called to me. My eyebrows furrowed when she nodded after I pointed to myself. I followed her to the front desk where I spoke into the black office phone.

"Hi," Her voice flowed dreamily into my ear.

"Hi," I smiled to myself. The nurse glanced my way then gave a small chuckle under her breath. It was as much emotion anyone had seen from me here.

"How are you doing? Is everything alright?" She asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Except for the therapy thing. I can't leave until I show progress in that and let's just say that I'm not exactly helping myself on that."

"Why not? You know that you can't leave until you open up so why keep yourself bottle up? Well," She sighed, "at least I know you're fine there."

"Are we fine?" I asked lowly. The nurse took my question as a hint to leave, which she took.

Silence didn't sit well with me and I shifted my stance uncomfortably. Awkward was hard to shift through and even when I tried avoiding it, it didn't work. This phone call's became awkward and it was my fault. I couldn't help asking her about our relationship at all. Night comes quickly here when I spend the days wondering how I could drag my life through the mud. Morning came just as quick when I thought about my relationship.

Finally she spoke, "Of course we are. You're not healthy now and it's hard not to be there with you, helping you through this. And that's why I haven't visited but I also think it's better if I'm not there as a distraction. But we're fine and you can - you will get through this. And I'll be there with Mr. Snuggles." Her laugh made my day complete. Hearing her speak of Mr. Snuggles, the bear I won her at a fair, brought back memories. I'd like to make more memories like that, better ones even.

After the phone call, I left to my room. This night I didn't spend thinking about my relationship, knowing it was alright. That following morning wasn't spent moping around and trying to figure how I drug my life through mud. I sat in group therapy awaiting my turn as usual. When my time came, the same guy quirked his left eyebrow at me that held a short, thin white scar. I stood slowly while I took a slow and deep breath. Blowing it out, I glanced at each person before I stood at the opening.

"Hi, I'm Joe. And I'm an alcoholic."

That one line opened me up much more than I thought I could to anyone. Therapy swung by so fast that I barely remember any sessions. Group therapy became more of a social gathering in my perspective rather than as confession. Pretty soon I was able to be released to the outside world. Fresh air as a sober man was unbelievably nostalgic. However, seeing her there with Mr. Snuggles as she promised made me feel as if I was the love-sick teenager I was before we married. Returning to that dark place that almost swallowed me whole was not an option. All I wanted was to snuggle up to my wife, along with Mr. Snuggles.


End file.
